A heavy silence fell as Veronyka’s dream self twisted a ring on her finger, pressing it into a thick glob of wax on a piece of paper, dark with ink. Her movements were brisk, but Veronyka felt the tremor in her fingers and the hasty, clumsy way she slid the document across the table. The tension in the room reached a crescendo as, with a nod at her advisers, Pheronia tore the sheet of paper in two.
Veronyka’s dream body leapt to its feet, but her own advisers descended upon her before she could speak or react, gripping her arms and steering her from the room. Veronyka glanced over her shoulder for a last look at the girl who was her sister, but bodies pressed in on her, blocking her from view.
Shadowy passages, whispered words, and suddenly Veronyka was in a bedchamber. Her people released her at last, and with a command laced with shadow magic, they fled from her presence.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Veronyka took up a heavy wooden chair and whipped it across the room. It smashed against the wall, shards of wood flying in every direction, but she wasn’t done. She smashed a ceramic jug and tore a silken pillow in half, the plump feathers dancing in the air like snowflakes. Panting, she lurched to a basin of water and splashed handfuls of cool liquid against her hot skin.
This means war, said a voice in her mind—a voice that was not Veronyka’s.
As the pool of water beneath her stilled, she dropped her hands and stared into the reflection of the dark bowl.
Val’s face looked back up at her.
Veronyka reeled back, casting aside the dream world as the true world came to life around her once more. Birds chirped, grass swished in the breeze, and sunlight beat down.
Val stood in front of her, so like the reflection in the dream that she felt she stared at a ghost, not a flesh-and-blood person.
The ghost of Avalkyra Ashfire.
My heart ripped open, my soul bled, and my very being caught fire.
- CHAPTER 42 -
VERONYKA
“VAL!” VERONYKA SHOUTED, AS her sister turned her back and stepped between the trees.
Val, Val, Val.
Veronyka kept repeating the word, out loud and inside her mind, as she chased after her sister. She had the feeling that if she said the word enough times, it would set things right—bring Val back, banish the images from her mind, and give her world equilibrium again.
But by the time Veronyka was able to scale the rocky hill above the tunnel entrance, Val was nowhere in sight, and Veronyka couldn’t see which direction she’d gone.
Veronyka tried their mental connection, but it was as silent as the world around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it did no good—the Feather-Crowned Queen was there, staring back at her with Val’s face.
Dread crept up Veronyka’s body like snaring vines, rooting her to the spot.
Val. Avalkyra. Avalkyra.
But . . . how?
Avalkyra Ashfire was dead. She’d died at the end of the Blood War . . . sixteen years ago. Everyone said so. Avalkyra had been burned to death, shot down during the final battle and consumed by her dying bondmate’s flames. But had she stayed dead?
Morra’s words from weeks ago floated to the surface of Veronyka’s mind.
All it takes is fire and bones.
Veronyka stared into the trees, her heart thumping in an uneven rhythm. She had the feeling that Val watched her—and yet she couldn’t unstick her feet, couldn’t seem to follow or call out for her.
If she did call out, what name would she use?
Eventually that prickly sensation of being watched receded, and Veronyka made her slow return to the Eyrie, her mind still in a daze. Though she couldn’t remember deciding to go there, when Veronyka climbed out of the cellar, her feet carried her into the kitchens.
For once, things were quiet in the vaulted room. While the fireplaces that warmed the hall and cooked their food burned hot and bright, the usual dozen or so kitchen helpers and servants were gone, busy tending to other things. Morra manned several large pots that simmered over the flames, while her worktable was covered with bunches of dried herbs and a handful of mismatched jars.
The room smelled medicinal, and Veronyka assumed Morra was brewing healing potions or sedatives for the people being carted off to the temple infirmary.
She looked up at Veronyka’s approach, and her smile was full of weary relief. She released the spoon she’d been using to stir and wiped her hands on her apron before limping forward and pulling Veronyka into a warm hug.
After directing Veronyka onto a nearby stool, Morra held her shoulders for a moment and surveyed her for damage. “You’re all right,” she said, half to Veronyka, half to herself, before leaning back against the table for balance. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost—not surprising, after your first battle—but you’re all right.” She paused, staring at Veronyka’s face. “Aren’t you, Nyk, lad?”
Was she? Veronyka didn’t know, but she nodded anyway, struggling to find the words to reassure the woman.
Morra limped away, returning with a hot cup of tea for Veronyka to drink. It smelled of sticky-sweet honey and mottled herbs, and as she sipped, her head began to clear.
“Morra . . . what did you mean when you said you were looking for resurrections after the Blood War?”
Her stories about the Mercies had stuck with Veronyka, though she hadn’t been sure exactly why—until now. When Morra had said she was certain she could find someone, Veronyka had thought it was a strange way of phrasing it. As if she hadn’t been talking about phoenixes at all, but people.
Morra frowned at her before hooking another stool and dragging it over, taking a seat next to Veronyka. She scratched her chin thoughtfully.
“Phoenixes can be reborn. This you know. But if they are bonded, phoenix and Rider can do the same.”
Veronyka stared at her. She should feel shocked, completely and utterly bewildered, but after what Val had just shown her . . .
“It’s a complicated magic,” Morra continued, “and it’s happened only a handful of times since the First Riders. It takes intense magical power, a bond that neither fear nor death can shake. But if done properly, a bonded pair can die a glorious warrior’s death and be reborn together from the ashes.”
Veronyka drank her tea with a shaking hand, trying to wrap her brain around the idea. Phoenixes were magical, and their ability to resurrect was well-documented—her own bondmate had done it. But the idea that a human could do it was unbelievable.
Or at least, it would be . . . if Veronyka hadn’t just seen evidence of it with her own two eyes.
While she’d always had strange dreams, when Veronyka looked back, she realized that those dreams—the ones that featured the two girls—had always been unique. Even as other frequently seen people and places would follow her for weeks, only to disappear, never to be seen again, these girls always returned.
Veronyka had just assumed they were stubborn memories, clinging to her mind and resurfacing during moments of exhaustion or weakness. Maybe they kept coming back because they puzzled her, so crisp in detail and yet disconnected from Veronyka’s own life. It had never occurred to her to look around the real world for answers.